Molly Hooper's Day Off
by superstrawberryL
Summary: Molly's had enough. Enough of the cold room where all she sees are dead bodies. Enough of never getting anywhere with admitting her feelings to Sherlock. Enough of being lonely. Enough of everything. So she decides to take a day off. What could go wrong when the mortuary attendant is no where to be found and no one knows where she is. Filled with crack-ish and fourth wall breaking.
1. Chapter 1

Wait, wait, wait. Pause.

Ready? I hope no one seems too out of character. I hope someone will tell me if anyone is! Thank you!

Play!

Molly Hooper's Day Off

_Ah. Welcome. Please, sit, sit. Get comfortable for we are about to embark on a tale of romance, danger, and well, where Anderson obviously messes up everything. But sit and relax, perhaps have a cuppa, it'll warm you right up. Are you nice and snug now? Good. Let's being on our tale with our heroine, Molly Hooper, in the tale, Molly Hooper's Day Off._

_The story begins one day in the mortuary of St. Bartholomew's hospital where our bumbling heroine, Molly Hooper is about to make her move on the elusive Sherlock Holmes!_

Okay, Molly, today's the day! Go for it! You could be one question away from going on an actual date that you've been dreaming of with your dream guy!

"Listen, I was wondering…"

You're doing good so far Molly….

"maybe later, when you're finished—"

"You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before."

Shoot. I knew he'd notice. He always does. Well, not everything, like emotions, and other things like that, but, ah, you understand.

"I uh, I refreshed it a bit."

Okay, Molly, almost there…

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."

Perfect! Now-

"…Black. Two sugars please. I'll be upstairs."

Ow…It feels like he's used that riding crop on my heart to give it a good enough smack to send it spiraling down to my abdomen.

"Okay."

* * *

I retold the story to Toby, feeling myself sink farther into a somewhat depressed state. "Ah, Toby, what should I do?" I asked my cat, who only mewled in response, probably wondering where his dinner is.

"He just doesn't seem to understand," I explained, opening up a can of cat food. "I'll be mortified if I had to admit to him that I'm in love with him, but, I can't. It'll be too embarrassing," I plopped the food into Toby's bowl and set it on the floor and watched the cat devour it.

"What shall I do Toby?" I repeated to the cat, who looked up from his food temporarily as if he heard my question. Instead, Toby purred against my leg, comforting me in his own way. "Thank you, Toby," I smiled, petting my cat who purred louder against my touch. Toby smoothly leaped onto a chair next to the phone. He looked at my keys before glancing back at me.

I must have gone bonkers because I took that as a sign that I should get blasted off my arse.

* * *

_And dear readers, she did._

"You know what I don't understand?" I slurred, my margarita shaking in my hand. "Is if he can solve the most complicated cases, why can't he get the clue that I love him? Huh? God, I don't care. Sod this." I chugged down the rest of my drink in my hand, it's cold contents going down too quickly, making me cough.

"You go!" The mysterious stranger on my right nodded, raising his drink. "You show him!"

"And that scarf! You can't just wear it all the time! He looks damn good in it, but ugh! Stop Molly!"

"That's right," the stranger agreed again. "Stop!"

"And I never take vacations or days off, and if I try to leave early, he'll probably just pop up with those cheekbones of his and his eyes and make me go back!"

"Then take a day off. Simple," the stranger who suddenly sobered up said.

"What?" I asked, not sure if I heard them right.

"Day off. Play hooky. Give yourself a break. Go anywhere but that morgue of yours!" The stranger burst out. "Here. Bartender! Do you have a paper and something to write with?"

After receiving a scrap of paper and a pen, the stranger began writing a list.

_Day Off To Do_

_Avoid the morgue_

_Avoid that guy_

_Have fun_

"But what am I going to do for a whole day, alone?" I asked, looking back up, where the stranger was supposed to be, but instead, I was met with a scrap of paper with a phone number, a little note written on it.

Call if need of assistance.

* * *

_Back at her apartment, Molly laid in her bed and thought about what the stranger in the bar said. She thought and thought and thought._

Avoid the morgue? Avoid St. Barts? Avoid the one place where I'm at my most comfortable? The one place where I work alone, and the only people keeping me comfort are dead? The one place where the only heart I hear beating is my own, and on occassion, Sherlock's? The man who makes my heart speed up just by glancing at me? The man who can out wit even the brightest of people at Scotland Yard? The man who dismisses complex cases as a mere statement of elementary?

_Molly thought so much, she didn't realize she had stayed awake the whole night._

The ringing of my alarm broke me off my train of thought. The shrill and clear ringing sounding loudly in my ear, waking me up to get ready for another day. Another day at St. Barts. Another day where I say morning to the day's new dead bodies. Another day where I stay, working in a cold and lonely room, desperately waiting for Sherlock to appear, to make my day brighter. To wait for the man who can see though anyone and any problem, except me. Passing me off as a transportation device to the real problem.

Just transport for the real solution to the real problem. Just a minor detail.

I turned to the side where my alarm was still at its final shrills to wake me up. I've decided.

No more morgue. No more cold bodies. No more lonely days. No more Sherlock. No more.

Well, at least for the day.

I slammed my hand down on the snooze button and rearranged the covers over my head as I fell into a deep and blissful sleep.

Look out world, here comes Molly Hooper on her day off.

* * *

_And that dear reader, is where I shall leave off for now. My, isn't she just exciting! Just what will our heroine do next? _

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

I forgot to mention that this is like a fairy tale being told to the readers. Imagine it as one of those stories, told in a dimly lit room, a warm fireplace close by, and the narrator is wearing a bathrobe, a fez, and an ascot, just telling the readers a story.

And we once again press play on the story once more.

Molly Hooper's Day Off

_Welcome back! I've hope you've gotten a snack and snuggled up and are more comfy. Shall we get back to the story of Miss Hooper, who's decided to take a day off of work? _

_Before we've gotten to Molly, let us take a quick trip down Baker Street, and up the stairs of 221B, where the brilliant and oblivious consulting detective and his flat mate and best friend have settled down—well, one has—for the morning. Or so we think. For Scotland Yard's in a bit of a pickle and Sherlock may be the only solution-_

"Shut up!"

"What?" John Watson put down his newspaper and looked at his flat mate with curiosity.

_Let me finish explaining!_

"Of course Scotland Yard's in a pickle, why do you think they always call me?" Sherlock muttered, not hearing, or pretending not to have heard the narrator's complaint.

_Well aren't you just an egotistical twat?_

"And you are-"

"Sherlock! Who are you talking to?" John yelled, getting the attention of his apparently schizophrenic friend.

"Don't you hear that voice?" Sherlock tilted his head to his flat-mate.

"Voice? What voice?" John sighed and put his head in his hands.

"Well that's because you're stupid, you don't hear it." Sherlock dismissed instantly with a wave of his hand and settled into his thinking position of sitting on the balls of his feet, pulling his hands together in an almost praying position.

"Maybe something's wrong with you."

"There is nothing wrong with me." Sherlock shook his head, glaring at John.

"I never said there was." John looked up at Sherlock, both seeming to stare each other down.

_And here's John Watson, army doctor and war veteran, just looking for a flat and mate to call his own._

"Okay, now I hear it. And it-"

"No, no. It's a he. And it is here somewhere." Sherlock observed, looking up.

"And it is a creeper," John said, looking around also.

_Well at least I don't compete with a door knob over who has more feelings!_

John stifled a chuckle at the comment. Sherlock looked scathingly at the ceiling.

_And I also don't ignore the internet's comments about my sexuality, mister Watson. _

"Okay, where is he?" John rose instantly to his feet, looking about the room. "Because apparently he has seen my blog's comments."

"No, he's seen tumblr," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Dreadful place. Much rather go to anywhere else in the tumblr kingdom."

"You've been on tumblr?" John asked, looking at Sherlock with a blank expression.

"Of course. More on your account though. Might want to make your password harder, hmm?"

"You've been on my account?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"So you've seen…" John trailed off, feeling more awkward as the minute passed. "You've seen…the um…"

_Yes, John. That means he's seen the Johnlock. The Red Pants Mondays on your dashboard, the John jumper, the kittens, the shippings, the entirety. _

Sherlock shuddered at the name. "I've even seen those artworks of the thing, whatever you call it, the purple shirt of sex?" Sherlock looked down at what he was wearing and sighed at the plum colored shirt. "Even the boat of my brother and Lestrade."

"You mean the ship of Mystrade?"

"Yes. Interesting uses for an umbrella those authors come up with. Even the pairing of Anderson and dinosaurs. Quite amusing," Sherlock nodded.

"Err…" John cleared his throat. "Where exactly is this mysterious voice then?"

"If I am not mistaken, John, we are in a story." Sherlock jumped out of his chair. "A fairytale."

"Of?"

"Ms. Molly Hooper." Sherlock put on his coat and his scarf and bounded down the stairs of 221B, John following at his heels.

_Ooh, very good Sherlock. Now, Sherlock and John hailed a taxi and were bound for-_

"Wait, wait, wait. Where exactly are we going?" John asked, one foot in the awaiting taxi.

_Just then, John got a call from Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade himself telling John of case at the Yard. _

"Ooh, you're good," Sherlock admitted, looking up. "To Scotland Yard, please," Sherlock told the taxi driver before getting in after John.

_Well, dear reader, that ends the chapter before the real chase begins!_

_Adieu! _


End file.
